had
inspired. Inez this day came not with them. To begin with, Inez had been
reared in the fold of the Mother Church, and, though years had served to
loose the bonds and possibly sap what little she ever had of faith, she
had sought, at least, no substitute. Obediently had she gone at first
with her soldier-husband and looked, in the eyes of his kith and kin,
the picture of meek piety and adoration as she followed the new, strange
ritual. But, once away from family observation, Inez had found refuge in
hebdomadal headaches that came with the Lord's Day and kept her from
church. She was "feeling far from well this morning," said Dwight, in
answer to queries, and had been persuaded to remain in bed. So he and
Jimmy had come to church and Foster had gone to the Club to write some
letters and wire to Washington, and all were "present or accounted for,"
as Captain Washburn grimly announced at the Club. It was a lovely warm
Sunday, too, and the old chaplain was effective as a reader. The choir
was capital, despite Priscilla's criticisms, and the attendance was
large. Army folk, as a rule, flock but sparsely to the sanctuary, but
Minneconjou had not a few devout church people, even in the ranks,
Blenke being so earnest in his piety that when detailed for Sunday guard
he never failed to effect an exchange, even though it cost him two tours
for one. Furthermore, it was communion service, and unusually long.

Marion Ray had entered early--Sandy, pale-faced and thin, at her side;
and together they had knelt, mother and son, and then sat silently
awaiting the "Processional." When Dwight and Jimmy walked up the aisle
and took a pew on the other side and nearer the altar, Marion had smiled
fond greeting to the little fellow, and he had answered. Twice as she
gazed at them later, Dwight's arm about Jimmy's curly head, his sinewy
hand resting on the further shoulder and drawing him to his side, heavy
tears welled up into the blue eyes of the tender-hearted woman. Never
yet had that strong, sinewy hand been uplifted to inflict the lightest
chastisement on Margaret's beloved boy. Only the day before on his
regular visit, nestling to her knee and telling her laughingly how
Sergeant Shock, the schoolmaster, had walloped Scotty Burns, the band
leader's eldest hope, Jimmy had looked up suddenly into her eyes. "Why,
Aunt Marion," he said, "only think! I've never known what it was to be
whipped. Can you fancy daddy's ever using a strap on me?"